Stories of a Child
by Mai-Minzgruen
Summary: Phil is wondering what it really means to be an 'adult'. Because, technically, he is. But he doesn't quite feel like one. There are still things to figure out - and won't he ever stop to care? And why is Dan filming in the middle of their living room ... and actually not filming at all?


**Title:** Stories of a Child

**Author:** Mai Minzgruen (hes-only-tiny)

**Rating:** teen

**Warnings:** Slash

**Pairing:** Phan

**Note:** So, I'm gonna upload it. Even though I think there are thousands of mistakes in it because no one really beta-read it before.

**But** - YAY, finally an English fanfiction. Oh my God, I am German and that means you can ignore all the mistakes I make (or inform me of them, I have to leeeeaarrn D: ) But yes, it is short, though I like it a lot! I have to write more often in English, it's inspiring :3

Have fun, yo!

***** Stories of a Child *****

You know those things they say when you are still a child? "You'll see" and "You'll understand soon." What they really mean is that you'll eventually grow older and learn to understand; to remember things and link them together so as not to make this exact mistake again a second time. Maybe also just to accept situations as they are. Because sometimes you can't change them, no matter how hard you try or how strong you believe in yourself. Because the world keeps spinning and you're not able to stop the endless rounds it runs around the sun like a blind person trying to escape. Because you're an adult now. And you have to know where your limits are. Adults know these things.

But sometimes it's just not that easy.

I've grown older the past few years, of course. I am now 27 myself. I'm long able to buy and drink alcohol in America; I can win money in casinos all over the world; can live on my own and go to prison for things I might or might not do in the future.

But I am yet to understand these phrases they keep telling you. They've stopped now. Have stopped long ago. Yet I still haven't found the answers to any of them.

Maybe I just think too much. That's what they also told me back then, anyway. Perhaps that's true. I know I shouldn't worry so much, rather let things be things – I can't change them anyway, can I? That's what they try to tell you when you're a child. Don't worry too much.

It puts immense pressure on you, it throws you hard onto the ground and you can't help it when you are unable to just stop this caring.

You can care about your best friend; your parents or even about your pet. Just don't care about yourself. It won't do you any good.

That's the only thing I've learned so far. And guess what? I keep breaking my own promises and do things I told myself I wouldn't. I am no longer scared of people not liking me. They should just go on with their endless insults and declaring me "gay" or "ugly" or whatever. Some people at my school started calling me "Weasley" back then – until I changed the colour of my hair.

That's not what I'm worrying about anymore, no. It's the reason I can't sleep at night; that keeps me awake and steals my dreams.

It's that one boy that just won't leave my head. It's been 4 years now. Or maybe 5? I try telling myself I don't know. But I do.

It's that one boy who sleeps on the floor under mine. That's probably breathing silently right now and dreaming of a world I'd never be a part of. At least not in the way I want to be. And I keep crawling myself through days and seasons and hells of winter – but I can't lose these feelings. They stay as solid constants in my way and prevent me from growing older. From understanding these phrases they keep telling you when you are a child.

Because I still don't understand. What will I see? What is there to understand?

I just know that I'm not sure whether it would be better to be with or without him. It's bitter, this love, but bitter doesn't kill you. It just keeps you alive like a fish bowl does to a goldfish. But this animal has the advantage of forgetting what was happening a few seconds ago. I can't. And so I'll always be a prisoner of my own picked purgatory.

He takes my life and gives me air every day. And it's like a drug. I think I will follow him to the end of the world.

And again, I care too much.

"Phil, will you set the camera for me, please?," he said as I entered the room that Saturday morning, just wanting to check whether we had milk in the house or not and then go to bed again and don't leave it until it was 5o'clock at night. That wasn't like me, though, neither was it to ignore him or say no. So I just nodded and went straight for the camera without saying a word.

Although I did wonder why he was up this early, we weren't expected anywhere today and he usually wasn't that eager to finish his videos.

"Got it," I mumbled as his face finally was where it should be and turned on my heels again.

Usually he wouldn't film in our living room, either. So that was pretty odd.

"Is the light right, though?"

"Yes, it is."

I almost added "In case you didn't know, you can also see you on your screen yourself. You're doing these things alone lately, anyway." But I kept my mouth shut.

"What are you filming?"

"Nah," he did a great gesture and wrinkled his pretty nose. "Just a boring vlog, creative things next week!"

"Or the week after," I thought to myself. Because Dan just wasn't good at keeping deadlines he made for himself. But I couldn't blame him. That's why I've never made one for myself to keep.

He didn't expect any retort from me after that, at least he didn't look like it, so I made my way into the kitchen to pour me some milk and cereal. But as I just wanted to sneak into my bedroom again, he called from the living room.

"Phil?"

"Is something wrong?," I asked as loudly as I could manage, which was actually pretty quietly to be honest, since I couldn't bring myself to even raise my voice a fraction. And as he didn't answer, I, however, grew slightly annoyed, though I swallowed all those feelings and just walked into the living room where he was still seated before his camera. I even managed to go looking for him without spilling the milk and that was the first miracle on this day. I liked it better milk with cereal, not cereal with milk. That was also the reason Dan often woke me up, screaming and forcing me to buy some because I drank the last bit.

And then I stood a bit awkwardly in front of him, cold bowl in my hands and barefoot. Not the way I expected my Saturday to be.

"You know … I'm not actually filming."

"You're not?," I asked a bit silly because my head just couldn't fathom the reason we wasn't. He was sitting in front of his camera and adjusted it, why else would he do that?

I guess it was just too early on a weekend.

"I just … wanted to talk to you. I guess."

I had to admit, he looked rather miserable. Shoulders hunched, gazing at the floor. It was long since I've seen him this way and it made me worry. And gave me painful stitched in my chest, which were oh-so well-known already.

Care about other people. Not about yourself. Dan was another person. It wasn't like we were soul mates and two persons in one body, right?

"But … couldn't you just do it without your cam?"

He sighed deep and as he did, I slowly walked to our table and put the bowl onto it. I didn't know what was coming. But a mark on our carpet wasn't worth it. Also, I didn't want to go buy milk today. I liked to keep my pyjamas on.

"No."

I couldn't quite comprehend what he was trying to tell me. What he was pointing towards. I didn't let myself think this far. "Come on, Dan, shoot. We're adults. Whatever it is that you have to tell me, tell me," I demanded and didn't mean a thing I said. Because there was this big word again – "adult", and I still didn't understand anything. I didn't feel like a grown up man, I still liked my Spiderman shorts and Pokémon. Of course, a grown up man can like these things as well. But I just didn't feel like 27. I felt like I was just out of school even though I had a job and worked and had my own house. Also lots of bills to pay.

"It is serious," he whispered. Like, in a voice I've never heard from him. With a look I've barely seen. And I stood there, bracing myself with all my weight onto the table and tried not to fall over. "Like, I-have-to-set-my-camera-up-and-use-this-as-an-excu se serious."

Still, he didn't continue to talk. So I guessed I had to.

"Then go away from your camera. You don't need it, do you?"

Dan shook his head no and did as he was told. Stood up slowly and made a few uncertain steps toward me. Still didn't look me in the eye.

"Phil, you know, forget it!," he said at last, head shaking wildly as he came to a halt right in front of me. But I wouldn't let him show the white feather. He'd have to tell me now. He started this.

"No, you even set your camera up for that. No chance to back down now."

"No, this is ridiculous, Phil!," he just said, voice all loud and slightly angry. I didn't know because of what or whom exactly, though. "You and your stupid hair, your I-want-peace attitude. Your faked innocence – and I know it's faked, Phil."

It wasn't like that. I just couldn't think so far before talking most of the time, really. The time I agreed on him that he was "special" when we filmed Phil Is Not On Fire 4 … he said I didn't mean it. But I did. Because my tongue was faster than my thoughts. That happened too often for my own good.

"What are you trying to say?," I wanted to know. Wanted to hear his answer straight from his lips. Until it choked me and dried my throat. Until I couldn't even think of kissing him ever again. I wanted that. And yet …

"I don't love you," was all he said. Still shaking his head like he couldn't believe the things he said himself. "I can't," his voice broke. "love you."

It wasn't likely that he cried. And so he didn't. Daniel James Howell was more mature than most people out there would believe. He might be a bit insecure, trying to cover it up my being sarcastic and a little shit, so to say. People bought it, they even loved it. He's never tried to change that since. I couldn't even make out unshed tears in his eyes, but his voice sounded so lovely broken to my ears.

I guess he went a bit doubtful after I just stared at him and wouldn't say a word. I heard what he just admitted to me. Perhaps also to himself. He seemed rather shocked that it broke out of him in that way. With that intensity. And I just stood there watching him panicking.

Until I kissed him and he wasn't anymore.

I guess I've known him now for a long time. Longer than I've known myself, anyway. At least that's what I think sometimes when my tongue lies still and sleepy in my mouth; letting my thoughts do all the work.

And yet I didn't see that coming.

Let me just tell you, I am now 27 years old myself. And I don't know a thing. And that's not bad – because you've got your whole life to grow up. Some are finished growing up when leaving school, others may think in 40 years "now that's finally enough."

I'll continue loving Pokémon and Spiderman. And I'll continue loving this boy like there won't be any other ever. And, indeed, I will follow him to the end of the world. If I have to, I will.

And all those questions? I haven't looked up the answers since. Because they don't actually matter. They just make you think about yourself, caring too much. Let another person care for you so that you don't have to do this yourself. It just won't do you any good.

Let another person give you air and fights and goosebumps and love.

You've got your whole life to grow up.


End file.
